Locomotive, Volume 46, Number 11, Indianapolis, Marion County, 30 October 1858 — Page 1

ELDER & HARKNESS, "The Chariots shall rage in the streets, they shall seem like torches, they shall run like the lightnings." Aaium,ti, 4. Printers and Publishers. , VOL XLVI. INDIANAPOLTS, INI). SATURDAY,". OCTOBER 30, 1858. NO. 11.

THE L(ICU)1IUT1V IS PRINTED AND PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY ELDER & HARKNESS, At their Book and Job Printing Office, on Meridian Street, Indianapolis, Ind.. opposite the Post Office. , , TERMS Ono Dollar a year. Twenty-live Cents for three months. Six copies to one address for one year, Five Dollars; thirteen copies one year for Ten Dollars, utyiN a bvauck in sll ciSKS.cijJ No paper will be sent until puid for, and no paper will be continued after the time paid for expires, unless renewed. Look out for tiii (!uim All mail and county subscribers can know theirliine isout when they ace a largecRnss marked on theirpaper, and that is always the last paper sent until the subscription is renewed. terms or. .advertising: Onesqnare, (R lines. or loss, 250 ms,) for I week... .... 0.50 . . " for each subsequent insertion ,. 0 25 n for throe months.. 3.00 1 u ' for six months ............... 5.00 " . for one year, without alteration....... ... 8. 00 , ii " for one year, with frequent changes 12.00 " A small reduction made on larger advertisements. Cuts tnd Special Notices double the above rates. , : Terms Cash. , y-fMnertitrmcnts must be handed in by Thureday of taek Keek, or they will be deferred until the next iteue. t

3VC O : S ; 33 IMPltOVKD SPE C T A CL E S! 1 T HE BUST III - BSE. rmiHKSK Glnsses are made of THE PUREST MATERIAL, 1 and ground upon SCIENTIFIC PRINCIPLES. Andnot only give clear and distinct vision, but are highly endowed with the property of preserving the sight. Office No. 8 West Washington streel, np stairs. oct2. 5 0 0 OF THE Great Western 'ast SlecJ Flows, . AT THE AOK1CHLTUHAL WAREHOUSE, Under Maeonic Hall, Indianapolis, Indiana, BEAKH A SI.MO.V, Proprietors. HAVING recently fitted up a largo Shop and Warehouse in Wasonie Hall, we are now prepared to offer to our friends and customers, and to the public generally, such in ditcements as bus never before been offered in the West, in regard to prices and quality of maleriaisand workmanship. We have on hand a large quantity of our celebrated Great Western Cast Steel Plows of all sizes, from a one-horse Corn Plow to the largest size Road Plow. . We would respectfully invite the attention of Fanners and all who are in want of farming implements, to our stock before purchasing elsewhere, as we are confident that wo can sell them the best improvements that call be obtained in the country, und as we buy our material in large quantities from first hands, we are also prepared to offer great inducements In prices. jrp A liberal discount made to the trade. , jau23-3in BEARD & SINEX. GLASS & STOS EWABE DEPOT. A T WHOLES A LE. 100 West Washington Street, opposite the State House. J. C. MIDLBMAS) decl'J-lyl Commission Merchant. JEWELER S. No. 1 llJites House. rsiHANKFUL FOR PAST FAVORS, would respectfully beg I leave to inform the public that they are still on hand with their usual full assortment of every thing in the way of Watches, Jewelry, Silver Ware, Arc. Wo wish it distinctly understood that we do not keep the low priced, bogus Watches and Jewelry, gotten np for auction sales; but will guarantee to sell good, honest articles as low as can possibly be had elsewhere in the West,. OurSilrcer Woreis warranted equal to Coin; our Watcket bound to go and keep time, and all our goods Just what we represent them to be. For further proof call and examine for yourselves. WehavelhebestWiTi iiMAiiKRin the country in otir employ; o bring on yoor Watche. feb.-tf I'D KN ITU HE WAKEKOOM. JOHN VETTEH) Meridian St., in Kccly's Invincible Jtlock, 5 DOORS SOUTH OF POST OFFICE. ' ' EEEI'S on band all kinds of good and solid Furniture, which he sells al the lowest prices. As Cabinet-maker and luruer, he is prepared ul any time to promptly execute all orders in hislilie of business. His factory is opposite the Madison Depot. Everything done is warranted to be in the neatest and most durable st le. aprl7 JOHN VETTER. UEMOVtD.t r. . .. ; r rll . VAJEJI has removed bis New Store, No. 21, West . Washington street, opposite Browning's Drug Store, w here he keeps constantly on hand, the largest and Best Assorted. Mock of Hard ware in the City, at Hcdnced Prices. . Ho has lust received n large lot of Gum Belting, Rope and Blocks; Axes, Nails. Locks, Hinges, Polished FireSetls, Amos' Shovels, Fine Cutlery, Ac. ,. , , "et5. J . M A HK , Venitian Blind manufacturer, i sm. North of Court rtonse. on Alabama street. km, . mistnntlv on hand Blinds for Dwelling Housos, and also makes to oruur uhmub no i" M. LONG, Agent l.r Venitian Blinds, on Meridian St., near -he Post Office, at his rurnnure fllAKES pleasure in returning his thajiks to the Ladies and I Gentlemen of this place and vic inity (or their very liberal patronage, and still hopes to meet the same confidence he has engaged since he commenced the pructice ofjiis profession '"srllSfe'lh, from one to a full set, Inserted on Platlna, ParClar'nUention given to regulating, cleaning, and extracting Teeth. Ether given when required. --., " All work warranted, and charges reasonable. Offlce2dstor Fletchert WooUey's block, No. 8 East Washington street. . Oct. 24-tf . " J. P. HILL. O. GOLDSMITH. J. B. HIIL rr..it nnl Ornamental Nursery. rilHE undersigned have established themselves inthe NursI erv business on the well known N n rsory grounds formerly occupied bv A.ron A , ?edee, few rods east of the corpora! on line 'iLianapolis. Wo have on hand a ge nera r n fruit trees, of such varieties as are best ad, pte 1 1 to o. '""'' rlimaiH 1 he trees are of the very best quality. Alsoavery climate, neireesnro Tt-p We are now ready Hue stock of Ornamental nnr- 'v"...-. to All all orders prompuj. HILL. GOLDSMITH CO., . . ', . Indianapolis, Ind. , m x FFirK. H.rrison's New Bank Building, lil East Washing IK" Streei, second floor front room VCf Office honrs from 8 AMto r.n. ; G WAKE. fpHIS da received 11.000 gallons of Stone w are, assorted ' .. . . i i s. fi & 8 gallons. jar;1, i. ,, Jugs, I.8.3&11- . Pans,l2glls JAC0B ilSDLEY'S,, . -i; - wt W'ushintrton Street.

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, Indianapolis. Ind."

. IFrom tho Philadelphia Saturday Courier. A LAY OF THE SEASON.

BY MRS. C. THERESA CL.RH. ' -,- The mi miner hour are fudod, and a coronet of leaves, . In her viatas, dirnly shaded, pule browed Autumn buy weaves; From tlio loresL's dark rocosacs, there comes a hollow mouii, For tlie tflory thnt ii vanUhud. for a kingdom overlhrown; The old oak bowsUs Uend, and seem inhanphty ire to frown, As the sturdy woodman cleaves its root, and Ions its brunches down. To blaze upon a cottape hearth, while midnight tempest rave. The towering oak, once marked, pertUance, to float upon tho wavet . , , The face of nature wears no smile her many voices say, ; . Behold ! how in a lillle wink-, all bright things pass away ! The wild, bird cli aunts no more its lay, concealed in foliage , deep, The sharp eyed squirrel in his play hath ceased to nimbly leap Among the boughs, which, dry and sere, afford no safe retreat From the Ymnbling sportsman's deadly aim, if he his sight should greot; Yet anon, amid the withered fern, stealing with nace subdued. Huusitig in foar at every turn, the partridge leads her brood. Go out into tho woodlands, ye who love what God hath made! And behold how His kind Providence isevery where display ed! r ruin ine uny ueti mat nting us neau your fool-pain late across, To the scarlet berries that imbed the vieldlnir emerald moss: Though lost to sight earth's fairest forms, anew they shall arise, From the bosom of their mother earth, nrray'd in brilliant dyes; Yua, beautiful as em. to bloom when winter's reign is o'er, And shed again their rich perfumes, as they have done before. The ripo brown nuts bestrew the ground; u few are dropping yet, And truant boys h prize have found, where they their snares would set; Anil to the banquet merrily they haste with ringing shout, While the timid hare, aflrihted from bcr covert, peereth out; No futther harm hath she to dread from urchins, sooth to say. Who even now are homeward sped, witli carols glad and gay ! Each creature that exists aitd moves is iroverned bv His care. Who market!, e'en a sparrow's fall," und ruleth every where. Ch ! my heart is in the woodlands, and beside the forest stream. Where my childhood's aunuy hours flow by, and youth's delicious dream ! In after years acrnin I soucht those shades, and hi mv side. Their little hands soft clapped in mine, the objects of my pride; Ann as we walked. 1 bade them con the sweet mysterious lore, Which brooks, and bees, and singing-birds, had taught me long ueiore; And my soul was in an ecstacy, to mark tho budding powers, Which nature's scenes developed rure, in my young human nowers: Rejoice ! that not all desolate our nleasont places mourn, Though dreary winter comes apace, the (Spring shall yet re turn : Of which, shall tender memories within our bosoms dwell, As of the friends of happy days, who spuak a brief farewell; we've proved then, lailhiui, una with nope look lorlb, and not in vain. -- For the star-light hour, o'er (he myrtle bower, where we may meet again I We watch, as lor the loved and lost we've watched with tearful evos. And we trust, us we are trusting still, to meet them in the skies J From the Knickerbocker Magazine. ' OUT OF' HI'S HEAD. The lollowino; very curious manuscript was found in the room of a late inmate of the Bloomingdale Insane Asylum. As this paper, witli several others which he left behind hiiu, cannot be forwarded to the unfortunate gentleman, (he having left ' this bank and shoal of Time,') we avail ourselves of the privilege which Mr. cave us, when he placed the mss. at our dis posal. In printing this most extraordinary piece of auto-biography, we have deemed it advisable in justice to the living and the dead to substitute fictiti ous names lor those used by the author. . The thought that I shall be insane some day ; that shall be taken from the reslless world outside, to some quiet inner retreat where I can complete my Moon-Apparatus, and die, with folded hands, like a j man who has lulhlled his mission ; the thought ot this, my probable destiny, is rather pleasant to me than J otherwise, l say prouaDie destiny, Decause insanity has been handed down in our family from generation to generation, with the old silver bowl in which Miles btandish brewed many a punch in the olden tune, l think this punch somehow got into the heads of our family, and put' us out. At all events, I am to be insane. I have made up my mind to that. . . i But not yet. ' ' ' , The -vajrue disease has not eaten into my brain : I am reasonable and common-place. This house, in which I pass my time, is not a place lor idiots; this window is substantially barred, I admit; but that is to keep mad people out, and sane creatures in. What lunatics I see from this same window ! princes, and beggars, and pretty queans going up and down the street but mad, all I Am I to become mellow in the head, like them 1 . . Ay.:, but not yet. ' . ,s : . ' . . The man who brings me food three times a day is not my keeper. The gentle, cheerful gentlemen with whom I talk in our high-walled garden, are not mo nomaniacs : they are glorious poets and philosophers, who dream .with me ; : . . .. 7 .; : " or what the world sliull be. ' ' When the yeurs have died away." But the time will come when I shall sicken in the mind, and dwell with the shadows of men who might have shot theories at the moon, or written epics with as many lives as a cat, I shall be a shape of air a five feet and seven inches of darkness! ; And who will miss me out of this great world of creeping things ? Aotasoull Did I say that ? Ah ! but will not the white Lily in New-England remember me? Will not a panii of sorrow shoot throuirh her scented heart : will not all the delicate fibres and veins quiver with agony when they tell her this? ' Rain, and Dew, and Sunshine, kiss the white Lily for me, the whole summer long 1 V ho is tins strange .Lily, that shall think ot 1'aul Kinsr when all the world forgets him t 1 cannot quite rruess. She is a mystery even to me. First, she was a girl with large melancholy eyes, and a sensitive mouth that seemed to say sweet things when she was silent. I have seen a Madonna somewhere that re sembled her, only the picture had not half her holi ness. How the change took place, 1 cannot tell ; but 1 remember that she grew white, all white, Irom the dainty bend of her feet to the superb blackness of her hair, one became less woman than Lily, she was a lily tremulous, translucent, floating here and there on the cool pond, moored by the gold-fish with a slen der emerald cord. I am perplexed. My thoughts get tangled when 1 attempt to understand the metempsy chosis. Somewhere in New-England but just where, I can not well make out I first met Jean lloylston. I had hired a cottage in a green leafy spot, to pass the Aufnst in a picturesque place for a mid-summer's dream, 'rom the porch 1 could see the beach, a mile oil", stretching along the coast like a huge white-stwtted serpent r at the back of the house were a hundred acres of woodland, moistened and perfumed here and there by transparent ponds filled with marvellous white lilies. On the right, a ruined fort one of those grassy relics of the Revolution looked toward the sea ; and on the left, the embrowned roofs and red chimneys or the town peeped quaintly through the in terlaccd branches ot oaks and chestnut-trees. Th landscape was a strange blending of the real and the vague ; the old desolate fort, staring with a stunned look through rain and sun-shine, the solemn forest, the noisy, busy town, the doubtful shapes of heaven and sea ! With a book or a fishing-rod, I passed my davs in the quiet woods ;. but at night I would wander alone the beach, watching the mysterious bits of light winch bobbed up and down in the distance, and the little ghost-like sails that glimmered for a second, and dis

appeared ; but more than all, I watched the broken I

image oi me moon on tno waters : that aeiignteti me it r like a Claude Lorraine. It filled me with dreams ; it led me into a region of new thought ; and here I first conceived tho project of my Moon-Apparatus, which, when completed, will annex another world to Art, and dissolve the musty theories with which science has deluded man for the past five thousand years. Btit of this hereafter. I haunted the beach, until even the shy sea-gulls ceased to care for my presence. They would dart fearlessly around my head, while I lay on the rock?, from twilight to sun-rise, shaping the vast thought which had grown up within me. ' One evening while thus occupied, I was roused from -my meditations by a quick cry of vexation. I was lying in the bottom of a stranded wherry which lay rotting, half-way up the beach : by raising myself on one elbow, I brought my eyes on a level with the gunwale of the boat. And this is what I saw : An angel, or a beautiful girl, which is much the same thing, stood on tho beach some sixty feet from me, pouting most deliciously at a little gipsy hat which the impudent wind had stolen from the black folds of her hair, and gently dropped into the water just out of her fairyship's reach. What will she do ? thought I ; and I watched her. Glancing hastily up and down the beach, she stooped down and unfastened her bronze gaiters, and, lifting her white drapery, unhesitatingly waded out to the ' Hat.' She had scarcely regained the shore, when a voice from the road back of the beach, called out : ' Jean ! Jean !" ' Coming !' cried the girl with a rich merry voiceShe looked up, and our eyes met A delicate tinge of sea-shell pink overspread her neck and face. 'I was coming to your assistance,' I said, touching my panama, anil growing very red and awkward under her large brown eyes ;' ' but your own skill rendered mine unnecessary.' ' ' You saw me, then ?' i ' Yes : I was sitting in the boat.' - ' Indeed 1' And with just the slightest curl of her lip ah! what a scornful little mouth it was, to be sure ! she looked me full in the face. . ' You were not gallant, Sir, to let me wet my feet.' ' I acknowledge it ; but I could give an excuse." She bit Iter lips ; for she knew I was thinking of her faultless white feet. - ' There 's not a fisher-boy on the coast but would drown himself with shame, if he had seen ine and not helped me in such a predicament.' - ' Shall I drown myself V' .Oh 1 it you please. ' ' And you would't care'?' ' No : only it's been raining, and you would get very wet!' -.-'".!.(". ' People usually do, when they drown !' said I. " And in the midst of our laugh at this absurdity, the voice which did not seem to have any body attached to it, again called : ' Jean 1 Jean !' . ; . And Jean drew the straw flat over her enchanting eyes, and swept by me like a queep, and When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite . music.1: -. . . ..... ! ,,. I!-..- . lr.. :. -- ; -t - I watched her agile, fairy-like form, till it was lost among the leaves. I had known Iter five minutes, "and I sighed! ' ' Would she come again ? ' Would she give me her eyes to look upon, and her lips not to touch but to listen to ? ' i " 1 And then the moon grew out of a murk cloud, just as a flower breaks throu'rh the rich earth, and a mil lion little blossoms trembled in the heavens. The landscape seemed carved out of marble, it was so white, and quiet, and grand, under the moon I And I took this sudden tall ot light tor a good omen. 1 went home with iov in mv heart, as if I had found a ereat nufre-et of gold, shaped centuries ago, for me. - Would she come f Many a night 1 strolled by the sea-side, or sat on the old boat, waiting for her. But she did not come. Was she a sea-lady or a woodnymph ? ' Then I went whole day's in the woods, searching for her. I began to think that happy night was a dream that the hair, and e yes, and the coy white feet were only so many tricks of sick fancy. But at last all sweet things happen at last she came : not alone, as I could have wished, but, like .' fair Inez, with a i . i-' cjALLANT cavalier. - Who rode so payly by her side, ' ' . And whispered iie'r so near.1 , r t ' It was not a dream, then, I said. ' What matters it, if she does canter by my cottage so gayly, looking neither to the right nor to the left i ah ! but she does, though 1 'she fixes those dangerous brown eyes on me. 1 can but touch my hat. i r So Jean rode by; and what could I do that night but dream ot her t - i' 1 ' . .... . . i ... .... 1,1 j . ( As she fled fast through sun and shade, 1. ' The hiippy winds upon" bur played, . ;; - Blowing the- rniglel from Ihe braid : She looked so lovely, as she swayed 1 ,; - The rein with dainty finder tips, .''A rnan had given all other bliss, And all his worldl; wealth for this. To waste his whole heart in one kiss . . r. , '. Upon her perfect lip3.' :; i I can shut my eyes, and see her dashing around Willow Curve on the little black mare. ' A picture, I take it, for memory to press in her thumbed and dog'seared volume. ' I dream of her thus riding away from me ! But something too much of this. .i Here commences the mystery of my life. I know not how it was, but we met again not once, but a hundred times. My recollection of that third meeting is 60 misty and vague, that I can only say, we met. It was by that old boat, in the moon-lip-ht, (how I mix up the moon with every thing !) that heaven first dawn ed upon me. 1 Day alter day, and otten m t he hne Au gust evenings, Jean stole from the neighboring town to sit with me. ,'1 1 How the days went by ! It was October. ' I had told my love to her, and we were lovers. Was there ever such a pair I ' Of Jean Roylston I knew nothing, save that her mother was dead, and that her father, a retired sea-captain, lived m a modest cottage on the outskirts ot the town Jean and an antiquated maid servant forming his entire household. lhcre was a brother, indeed, but he was at college.'' Jean's knowl edge of my personal history was equally limited, and hardly as satisfactory. Whether I ever was born or not, has long been a vexed question with myself ; and finding that she was not curious on the subject, I never attempted to solve the problem. 1 haveno remem brance of childhood, or early manhood, or, in fact, of anv thimr that has not happened within two years. only know that I have an allowance of eight or nine hundred a year, wnicn i uraw with commenuaDie punctuautv from Messrs. 1 atroclos and Company, bankers and that's all about it. It was very kind of somebody to leave me the moneys I will do the good thing for some bodv else, when 1 die may 1 live a hundred vears. though 1 . ; Heaven fashions superb nights in October, at least in New-England. And on the superbest night ever made of fire and ebony, 1 sat on the rocks, with my head in Jean s lap. , A change had come over Jean durini' the past few weeks. . She asked me such curi ous questians, and acted so strangely, that I began to fear for her reason. Her laugh turned into a smile ; she became thoughtful and melancholy. Sometimes when I chanced to be speaking rapidly she would take my face gently between her hands, and, looking earnestly into my eves, say : ' Toor Paul 1' Now I did not nrulprstand tins at all. Iwice that night on the rocK: Ko li-ul so interrupted me, : i Jean,' I said, taking her hands, ' yon are conceal-

What is . For a moment she seemed to be framing an answer, and then she asked me if I remembered the gentleman with whomshe rode by my cottage, months before? Did I remember him ! Did not that same cavalier make me as jealous as Othello 1 Did ho not kill my sleep for a week ! I rather think I did remember him ! ' Well,' said Jean slowly, ' he is au old friend of our family, especially of my father, who has long wished that tha' '" ' That what, Jean ?' ' That I should marry him. Even in my school-girl days this marriage was siioken of as an assured all'air. I grew to look upon it as part of my fate. I could never have thought of it seriously, or I should have protested years and years ago. If I had never seen you, 1'aul, it might have been. But now ! Paul,' and her fingers sunk into my arm, ' they have set the day for this hateful wedding I ; ' But it cannot, it shall not be ! Do you not love me, Jean ?' She only bent down and put her arms alxmt me. That was answer enough. Sometimes an answer is too full of meaning for words. Did she love me ? ' You shall be my wife, Jean to-morrow ? , 'No, no, no!' said Jean in a breath. And I. felt that she shrunk from me. ' No, no, no ?' I repeated to myself. 1 How strange !' Then the three quick negatives flew out of my mind, and, oddly enough, I commenced a mental construction of my Moon-Apparatus, forgetful of Jean and our narrow world of sorrows. ' The powerful lenses,' said I aloud, ' shall draw the rays of the moon in the iron cylinder: the action of the chemicals shall congeal these minute particles of light they will become clay, then adamant ! And this lapideous substance more precious than -diamonds I shall sell to skilful workers in jewels who will cut it into finger-rings, and popes' heads, and fantastic charms ! And I alone shall possess the wonderful secret 1 ' I, of . all the world !' - ' O God !' I heard Jean cry, ' is it so ! is it so ! I have waited, and hoped, and suffered. Paul, Paul, look at me, love, take me in your arms, and kiss me I Poor, poor Paul ! Look at me long. Never any more ! O God I that I should love a ' And Jean tore herself from my arms, and, despite my cries, fled from me. : I closed my eyes and saw her, as I have seen her a thousand times since, riding madly away on the little coal-black mare 1 . Stunned and amazed by Jean's sudddn passion, lost in wonder at her tears and the mental suffering under which she evidently labored, I walked slowly home. but not to sleep and dream'ouiet dreams, as had been my wont If .1 had known that I should never fold -her in my arms ajrain, never feel her breath on mv cheeks, never hear her speak ;' if I had known this, I should have died that nip-ht, out there on the desolate sea-shore ! It is well for us, flesh-arid-bones, that Eate keeps our destiny Under lock and key, dealing it out to us bit by bit, yvhile we, like so many. Oliver Twists, are asking for more. Fools ! let us be content, if .we can, with what we get. We know when we were born but we cannot guess, where our craves will be. It better so. Suppose a man, verging on the prime or' life, should meet his full-grown Biography yvalking about . lie wouhL be awlully anxious to shuffle otf this mortal coil, and have done with it I . . . . As I walked home that nijrht, the air was charged with electrieitv : quick spears of liohtninp- flashed from murky clouds in the far east, and though the stars shone with unnatural brilliancy, laree drops of rain came pattering down before I reached the door of my cottage. On passing through the grape-arbor which led to the porch, I was surprised to hear voices and see ngnts in my usuany quiet anu dismal aDoae. 1 stood on tip-toe and looked in at the window. The little room was filled with strange beings people who seemed as if they had once known me, but yvould know me no more I : , , . , . .' As I stept into the house, these people rose silently from their chairs, one by one, and passed out Who can they be ? thought I, looking after the vanishing throng, bewildered. Suddenly I felt a void in my heart, and I recognized them as they seemed to melt into and become a part of the night There was Hope, sorrowful enough, leading tho little blmd-boy Love ; there were Peace and Youth, going away from me forever ! Come back, ye unprized friends I stay with me yet a little longer, ye pleasant phantoms of long ago 1 But they heard me not, and passed on. I turned back to my room to weep, and lo ! a host of spectres srreeted 'me. ' But ah ! they ' went not at my cominn ! There, in. my chairs, waiting for me, were Pain, and Calamity, and Sickness, and Age, and Thought the worst fiend of all ! I pressed my hands on my temples, and I know not wliat happened, i i, ; ,.:..' I must have been sick many months, for when I opened my eyes to the world about me, ihere was something in the singing ot the birds and the newness of the foliage which brushed against the window, that told of spring. 1 lay m bed m my own chamber, and an old woman was drivinj; the Hies out tho room with her apron. : :!..- ' i ' is it May ' i asked laintly. . ;: ,.. .' The old beldam came to the bed-side and looked at me. .... . ' No : it is June. Go to sleep.'' ' ; - i Go to sleep ! As if I had not had sleep enough. Here was a mystery. I come home one fine October night from a walk with Jean on the beach : I find shadowy people making themselves at ease in my parlor: I fall over something:, I open my eyes, and it is June !. the flowers growing, the robins singing, and an old woman killing the Jllies 1 1 ask the time ot year, and am told to go to sleep : What would happen next t .:..;'.- 'i; !'' ' When the doctor came he put a little sense on the face of things. J had, he said, been taken suddenly ill in my parlor, where I was found tho next morning by the woman who overlooked, and sometimes looked completely over, the welfare of my menage. I had been long and dangerously sick ' out of my head,' as he expressed it but was doing well now, and would soon be a new man. 1 ' ''' i A new man ! ay. to be some body else were indeed a comfort ! , i j- ;:.'. .w : t Gradually the remembrance of all that had taken place dawned on my confused mind. I determined to ask no questions, but to get well as speedily as possible. Patience, patience, I could only lie and think of Jean. Time went by slowly. At length the doctor promised me one Saturday that I should walk out the following bunday, it the weather was balmy. - . Heavens ! what a day it was, . A thousand birds, crimson and blue, and yellow, floated on the air like wild-flowers with wings. Merry little brooks leaped through out-of-the-way places. The winds, scented with sweet-brier, just stirred the heavy, velvet leaves, and God's benison came down in the sun-shine. To Step into such a day from a sick-room ! i . ; I paced up and .down the arbor several times, for the old nurse was watching me ; but my heart and eyes were turned toward the town. I could just see the red chimney of Jean's house above the tree-tops, on the other side of the bridge L-1 opened the gardengate noiselessly, and stood in the open road. The wayside grass hardly bent under my light step. I seemed to walk on air. Now and then I paused to catch the few soft-warbled notes of an oriole : once I stopped at a brook to taste its silver water, and once a rainbowcolored butterfly yvas near tempting me into a chase. i In the Deltry ot the rain-beaten church at Vi , is a set of ehiming-bells. . Particularly sweet and sad are

ing something from me that troubles you.

these chimes. On a still sunny morning they preach melodious little sermons, and sing aiiy little hymns, all by themselves, up in the old belfry. You should hear them once ! Just as I placed my foot on the bridge, they began their matins. The air broke into a mist with bells ' 1 could but stand and listen. Now they would die away in softest whispers ; then they would come again louder, and louder, and louder, and then such a tintinnabulation ! You would have thought that all the dainty bells in fairydom had gone mad with music.. Suddenly they ceased, and the charmed air was start- . led and pained bv the solemn noise of the great bell. It was tolling ! They were burying some one from the church. As I looked into the cloudless sky and felt the grateful air in my nostrils, and heard the murmuring of waters about me, it did not seem as if Death were in the world. Something inthe mournful, human sound of the bell shocked me strangely. Nor me alone, seemingly, for a white-haired old man leading a child by the hand, stopped in the middle of the bridge and listened. ' ' Do you know,' said I, walking to his side, do you know for whom the bell is tolling ?' , ' Ay, ay,' returned the old man, 1 for old Mrs. Truefeathern, or Caplain Roylston's child ; they both were to be buried to-day.' . 'Jean Roylston, did you say !' 1 gasped. 'Dead !' ' Ay ; she has been sick nearly a year now.' Dead, Jean dead 1 O God ! how the sun-shine of that morning was blotted out in a moment I staggered against the wooden railing of the bridge for support. The bright green eel-grass which grew about the tide-gate turned into long streamers of crape ; the heavens hung down in black lolds; the robins wailed, like accursed spirits, in the cherry-trees ; and then that dreadful bell with its deep, melodious mournfulness ah ! Christ! how it did make my heart ache ! ' Dead ? no, old man, you lie to me !' I cried springing at his throat. . I could have strangled him for his words the demon of bad news ! But as I looked up,

1 saw Jean Koylston ay, Jean Roylston walking at the other end of the bridge. - .And as I looked, she turned and beckoned me. I loosed my hold on the terrified old man, and hastened after Jean. She walked leasurely doyvn the little hill, and took the road that ran by the cottage. I quickened my foot-steps, but to my utter consternation and surprise, I soon discovered that I did not gain on her in the" least. . 'Jean! Jean!' I called, 'wait for me.' But she passed on with unaltered gate; and though my walk had now changed into a quick run, the distance be- . tween us remained the same. The perspiration bun" in great cold globules on my forehead. ' She will stop at my garden-gate,' thought I. But no ; the doctor was standing there, and as I hurried by him, be hailed me with : . j . i 'WeE! where now, truant?' ". ' I'll return in a moment,' was my hasty reply; 'I wrish to speak with the lady who just passed.' ' Lady?' said the doctor, looking at me anxiously. 4 Nobody has passed here this half-hour no lady, surely.' - - ' What !' said I, halting with surprise, 'did not that y lady,' pointing to Jean, who had paused at a turn of the road, 'did not that lady just pass within two yards :ofTou?' 4 1 see no one,' said the doctor, following with his eyes the direction of my finger. , It had been my opinion for some time that the doctor was deranged. This was conclusive. It is a peculiarity of people who are slightly out, that while their eyes, turned brainward, conjure up all sorts of phantoms, they quite as frequently fail to see bodies which really exist in the material world. The poor doctor's disease took that popular turn. - But there stood Jean writing for me. The heavy June air blew back her long tresses, and I observed for the first time the unearthly pallor of her face. Is !t Jean, thought I, or a great white flower? ' ' Jean, dear Jean !' and I streatched out my arms, approaching her. : ' ' ,! ... She smiled on me sadly, and turned into a little briery path which branched off from the main road, and led to that large tract of woodland which I mentioned in describing the location of my cottage. Her pace now became accelerated, and it was with the titmost difficulty that I could keep her in sight On the verge of the forest she paused, and looked at me. Shall I ever forget that heavenly white face, those melancholy eyes, that mournful, hopeless smile 1 It was but for a moment she stopped. In the mean time I had approached within ten yards of the place where she was. standing. Then Jean parted the thick drapery of honeysuckle vines with her hands, and plunged into the dense wood. I followed her with all speed, for a horrid thought had flashed across my brain. I coupled Jean's wild look with the still, deep ponds which lay in the shadows of that vast woodland. ! i The thought gave wings to my feet. .ti I darted after her madly, tearing my face and hands on the tangled vines and briers, which streached forth a million ghostly arms to impede my progress. Every now and then, through openings in the leaves, I caught glimpses of her white dress floating away from me. This was like the sight of blood to a fam-i ished wolf. . I dashed on with redoubled speed. But in vain ! in vain ! I neither gained nor lost ground. We were now nearing the largest pond in the world, and unless Jean should change her course, that would prevent farther flight I should then have her at bay. This gave me hope, and I leaned against a tree to take, breath. She also stopped. " The piece of water directly before us lay, as it' were, in a great green bowl. The shore on each side sloped to the silver edges of the pond, and the grass grew down into the very water. A line of pine and maple trees shut it in on every hand, forming a vast amphitheatre, of which the glassyjiond was the centre.. I could sec Jean in the distance, resting on a boulder of granite. Now was my time ; but at the first step a dry branch broke uder my foot ; the sound startled my fawn, and she was off again. Wings of time! how she flew. At the line of the trees which encircled the sheet of water Jean halted irresolutely, and I nearly came up with her, so near, indeed, that I could hear the quick, heavy throbbing of her heart. I yvould have caught her in my arms, but ' Never any more, Paul ! ' she said, ' never any more ! ' and breaking through the festoons of ivv. she ran toward the pond. I heard a splash, not as loud as would be made' by dropping a pebble in the water. I ran half-way down the slope.. 'it- .!-!!' .. Jean had disappeared. ' . , : , Near the bank a little circle in the water widened, and widened, and broke into innumerable other circles,' which, expanding in their turn, were lost in space. A single silver bubble floated over the spot where the first circle grew, and as I looked this thing of air opened, and out of it slowly sprung a superb whiter Water Lily. . , . , - , There was no use to look for Jean. There she was!

. Here conies that dear, good man 'with my dinner.; I wonder who he is ? He certainly takes a great interest in me. I will do something for him when the' Moon-Aparatus is completed. He deserves it. " If I should everget out of my head and I shall some day, I know I should like to have just such a quiet, well bred fellow for my keeper. , : t But not yet, not yet! . ' ' t 0" Some one gives this cogent advice to bachelors :' " Be sure to annex a woman who will lift, you up, in-' stead of pushing you down in mercantile phrase, get hold of a piece of calico that will wash." , ; -